Let's Talk!https://filmgeeksite.wordpress.com
Put on your red lips and talk the bluesTue, 06 Mar 2018 22:11:12 +0000enhourly1http://wordpress.com/https://s2.wp.com/i/buttonw-com.pngLet's Talk!https://filmgeeksite.wordpress.com
An Honest Blog – Dealing With Self-Doubthttps://filmgeeksite.wordpress.com/2018/03/04/an-honest-blog-dealing-with-self-doubt/
https://filmgeeksite.wordpress.com/2018/03/04/an-honest-blog-dealing-with-self-doubt/#respondSun, 04 Mar 2018 20:50:36 +0000http://filmgeeksite.wordpress.com/?p=840Continue reading An Honest Blog – Dealing With Self-Doubt]]>Where I live, there’s a gate in my back garden (not an euphemism), that leads out into a park. The park itself isn’t much – a couple of baby swings, two climbing frames and a strip of red pavement that we would often play cricket on when I was younger. It’s pretty neglected now, only inhabited by teenagers with no place else to go and a lone shopping trolley. I’m not even sure how the grass gets cut, I never see anyone out there with a lawnmower. But the park isn’t what I want to talk about – it’s the gate itself.

Between the gate and the hinge, is a slither of a gap. I used to look through the gap and picture worlds beyond my typical suburban home. Worlds of monsters, worlds of magic, worlds remarkably similar to Middle Earth. My young head was bursting with ideas, imagination and sparks of creativity, I could almost feel my skull splitting at the seams and my mouth overflow with words that needed to put somewhere, anywhere. I could never draw, (I still can’t – haven’t got the patience for it), but I could sure as hell write (still can).

I wrote a story about how my simple, clean, entirely normal garden gate lead to a manner of different universes, and no trip was ever the same. Of course, I was heavily inspired by Enid Blyton’s The Magic Faraway Tree series, where the main children would climb up a tree in an enchanted forest and go to different lands. My travel tales, however, often ended with a character dying.

I wrote one character into a world of chocolate where, naturally, everything and everyone was made of chocolate, including passing visitors. Enticed by the endless amount of sweet treats, and not caring about eating random chocolate items from the ground, my character ignored her chance of leaving, deciding to stay in her own, personal heaven. However, as one would expect from such a story, she landed there on the same day the Sun was making it’s hundred-year visit to the otherwise faultless environment. The character melted away, despite desperately trying to escape, along with the rest of the world, which restarted its life cycle the next day. A brutal tale of gluttony and being careful what you wish for.

Sophisticated stuff, I know.

That word definitely says ‘shits’ doesn’t it? Hilarious.

Even as child, I was my own greatest critic. I deleted the whole thing one day when I re-read the book, embarrassed by the nonsensical plot. Although, I doubt the words ‘nonsensical plot’ popped into my mind, but ‘this is the stupidest thing ever written’ definitely did.

Still does.

That self-criticism has never gone away. Rather, it has grown as the years have gone on, even seeping into my personal life. I find writing to be the hardest thing I want to do at times – I’ve placed a pressure on myself that, normally, doesn’t need to be part of a hobby. Once I figured out that this is my passion and this is what I want to do, all of a sudden there was a need to be the best I could be at it.

Then, the doubt crept in.

What if my best isn’t even that good?

What if my ideas aren’t even that original?

What if the only thing I deem myself good at, is something I am incredibly bad at?

What if, what if, what if…

A hobby had become an ambition, that has lingered to this day. A simple love had become a consistent determination. The choices I have made in my education, have all been surrounding my love for writing. In college, I chose one course because it featured creative writing heavily. Half of my university degree is creative writing.

As time has passed, as my criticisms of myself have become harsher, I have noticed I write significantly less. Being able to churn out a hundred page book in a matter of days, has now become me staring at the flashing cursor on the screen, begging myself to write any damn thing. The need to be a perfectionist has stunted any creative growth, making it harder to get through.

Nothing like an inspirational quote to perk this blog up.

Writer’s block is a bitch. I truly and honestly, if not enviously, admire those that seem to manage to write effortlessly. I understand the struggle and I understand it’s not as easy as it seems – fuck, it took me three months to write this blog. But to those who complete what they set out to do, I think that’s an amazing thing to do.

For those that don’t – for those that are like me, either blocked, criticising or just inspired enough to abandon your old project in favour for a new one – I admire you too. Eventually, you’re going to finish what you started. Despite not being able to see past my own ‘this is the worst thing ever written’ thoughts, I know I’ll get there. Some things take more time in comparison to others. I hit a few milestones before others, so if I achieve the same goal a little later, that’s fine too.

The truth is, that one story will come. It will wreck you for months at a time. It’ll suck the life right out of you. It’ll be your baby and you’ll love-hate it so much you could scream. But it’ll get there. It may never get published, but it’ll be so damn good, you’ll love it regardless if no one else knows about it.

It’s possible I peaked with my chocolate world story. Ten year old me could be scoffing at my attempts right now. But as long as I’m my only critic, I’m going to keep trying.

That’s all we can do in the end, isn’t it?

]]>https://filmgeeksite.wordpress.com/2018/03/04/an-honest-blog-dealing-with-self-doubt/feed/03-places-for-writing-inspirationlauraaahuckle952004-02-29_Ball_point_pen_writingAuthor-Quotes-on-Writing-Sylvia-PlathLiterature Loves: A Monster Calls by Patrick Nesshttps://filmgeeksite.wordpress.com/2017/12/06/literary-loves-a-monster-calls-by-patrick-ness/
https://filmgeeksite.wordpress.com/2017/12/06/literary-loves-a-monster-calls-by-patrick-ness/#respondWed, 06 Dec 2017 21:03:35 +0000http://filmgeeksite.wordpress.com/?p=833Continue reading Literature Loves: A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness]]>From a very young age, I have always loved reading. Sounds vague, I know. The sort of thing you’d say to pass your GCSE language exam. But as basic as it is, it’s something that has shaped and influenced me to be what I like to refer to as a ‘hermit crab’. As a treat when I was younger, my mum would take my brothers and I to the library, where I would regularly check out a book about real ghost encounters and The Little Mermaid 2 (absolute classic). As I grew older, so did my tastes … sort of. I still read ghost stories and I still like The Little Mermaid 2.

A couple of years back, my mum and I decided to do a sort of book swap where we would recommend books to one another. Of course, we were probably secretly judging each others tastes. One of the first stories she recommended to me was A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness (2011) and oh my god, I can’t think about it without it bringing tears to my eyes.

At first, I was sceptical to try and read Ness again. I had attempted to read his Chaos Walking series, but I couldn’t make it through the first book – The Knife of Never Letting Go. I couldn’t focus, often turning back to figure out where I was in the story and what the fuck was going on. Hearing his name attached to an otherwise intriguing title, I felt a twinge of uncertainty. Was I really prepared to read his writing again?

Well, I was. Obviously. From the first chapter, from the first words – The monster showed up after midnight. As they do. – I was sucked in. Life had stopped itself until I read the final lines, closed the back cover and finished weeping. It was one of my first literary experiences of cancer, but it’s not the only reason why it has stayed with me.

The story essentially follows a young boy dealing with his mother’s cancer as it worsens. One night, a monster visits him, telling him that It will tell him three stories and in return, the young boy will tell It his own story – the truth. Along with a monster visiting him nightly, he must also deal with bullies, his gran interference and life in general.

At that point in my young life, I hadn’t read many books that had the same kind of context, except for maybe The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. But whilst some may say Green’s novel almost romanticises cancer, Ness takes it towards a different route, dealing with the impending grief of the young boy, Conor O’Malley, as he begins to realise that his mother isn’t going to get any better. However, with the help of the friendly neighbourhood tree monster, Conor can start to understand and therefore, start to grieve.

This wasn’t Ness’ own original idea either. The idea belonged to Siobhan Dowd, who had the characters, the concept and the beginning all ready to go – unfortunately, she passed away due to breast cancer before she could bring the novel to life. So, that fell to Ness. To pick up another author’s idea is difficult – there almost seems to be a fine line between copying an authors voice and stealing an idea altogether. Ness, however, kept the spirit of Dowd’s idea whilst bringing his own originality into it.

Every time I see this picture, I think the monster just looks like a bored kid waiting for his mate.

The concept is so fantastic in itself, but the language that takes the reader through is meticulous and almost haunting. Though it is written in third person, we see this all through Conor’s eyes – his terrifying nightmare, his stiff upper-lip gran, the wise but frightening monster. We don’t even really see him attack his bully, we see the monster control his actions, before it vanishes and Conor is left with the broken, bloody mess of a boy on the canteen floor.

When I was reading it, I would often justify his destructive actions, thinking Oh, well, he technically didn’t do it. The monster did it, so that’s okay. It was a similar justification to what the characters around Conor would use. It’s okay, his mum’s dying of cancer, it’s understandable why he would beat a mean kid within an inch of his life. It was the thing Conor hated most in the novel – pity and acceptance. Why should anyone accept his actions as ‘okay’? He thought himself as undeserving.

The monster throughout the novel would show up, unexpectedly, to tell Conor three stories, each one ending in a different way than what Conor would expect. It essentially went along the lines of this:

‘There’s an evil queen and a prince, who waged war on her after he found his girlfriend dead. Who did I help out?’

‘The prince obviously’

‘WRONG CONOR, YOU ARE SO WRONG, I SAVED THE EVIL QUEEN!’

‘Dagnabit, Tree Monster, you fooled me.’

(Believe or not, that was not actual dialogue in the book.)

This is actual dialogue.

After three tales, the monster demands that Conor tells It his truth. Conor denies the monster, not wanting to admit the horrid, guilt wrenching truth that has consumed him for so long. Throughout the whole novel, Conor is wanting to be punished and to stop being pitied, because of this truth that has taken over his whole life.

“I can’t stand it any more!” he cried out as the fire raged around. “I can’t stand knowing that she’ll go! I just want it to be over! I want it to be finished!”

As the book draws to a close, Conor begins to realise that his feelings – his grief, his guilt, his selfishness, his anger – are all perfectly valid. It’s okay for him to want it all to be over. It’s okay for him to let his mother go. What’s not okay, is holding onto a feeling that her death will be all his fault because he’s letting her go.

In the final scene of the novel, Conor visits his mother one last time. The monster stays with him as Conor says his final goodbyes as he holds her tightly and tells her “I don’t want you to go”. Even re-reading this passage now, for the sake of this blog, I can remember how I felt. The familiar lump in my throat has returned. I was at my partner’s house when I read those last few words – Conor held tightly onto his mother. And by doing so, he could finally let her go. – and as soon as I did, I rushed into the bathroom to quietly cry my tiny eyes out. It was a new relationship then, and I don’t think he realised at the time how quickly I become attached to books.

It was this book that made me realise that grief is a complicated thing. That sometimes it isn’t just wiping away a single tear at the funeral of your deceased soul mate, as you give a passionate eulogy about what a great person they were. That it makes it seem like there is no light at the end of a long, empty, dark tunnel. That sometimes it can overwhelm you, whether you fight it or not. But, more than anything, it is (sometimes) completely fine to be selfish.

And that cancer fucking sucks. But no one needs a book to know that.

Have you ever read this book? Do you know of any books similar? Let me know! I’m always looking for more books to cover my room in.

RECOMMENDED BOOK:

Grief is the Thing with Feathers by Max Porter : Grief is a bird instead of a tree.

RECOMMENDED FILM:

Take a wild guess. A Monster Calls was released in 2016 and features Sigourney Weaver, Felicity Jones as well as Liam Neeson lending his voice as The Monster. It’s lovely, and Neeson finally found his niche – giant monster trees. Not many people saw it. So go watch it.

]]>

https://filmgeeksite.wordpress.com/2017/12/06/literary-loves-a-monster-calls-by-patrick-ness/feed/0d090a2c9864fefedb852cda6b6b9040547c34cc114c664aa8e68623a895c78e7lauraaahuckle95a_monster_calls1673626b2ec52c3037262b18cb4c10b80We Need To Talk About Kevin. And Everyone Else.https://filmgeeksite.wordpress.com/2017/11/10/we-need-to-talk-about-kevin-and-everyone-else/
https://filmgeeksite.wordpress.com/2017/11/10/we-need-to-talk-about-kevin-and-everyone-else/#respondFri, 10 Nov 2017 22:15:02 +0000http://filmgeeksite.wordpress.com/?p=803Continue reading We Need To Talk About Kevin. And Everyone Else.]]>For the past few days, I have been attempting to write about the state Hollywood is in right now. I have been finding it increasingly difficult to write about it all, without sounding potentially insensitive – because this is not something I have experienced. In this regard, I have been very fortunate but I don’t wish to water down anyone else’s experience. So to start this off with, if there is anything I need educating on, please do not hesitate to comment on this blog or inbox me on social media.

Film has been a huge part of my life since I was a teenager. Not in a basic way, where you can list ‘I like movies’ in your Tinder bio. I mean, this is a form of art that I have enjoyed and appreciated in such a way that it has driven me towards many aspects of my life. I would not have even approached the idea of university, if I did not have such an affinity for it. I would not have spent large amounts of money on DVDs, Blu-Rays and film magazines. I would not be writing this tiny blog, would it not be for my complete adoration for it.

So to see such an empire I admire begin to crumble is such a heartbreaking thing. But it needs to crumble, in order for it to rebuilt and to be better.

Recently, there has been a wave of sexual assault and sexual harassment allegations made against Harvey Weinstein, Kevin Spacey, Brett Ratner, and more recently, Ed Westwick. There have been many others made in the past as well, and I can only see this progressing further (similar accusations have now reached Parliament).

Whilst there have been many allegations made before (Bill Cosby, comes to mind), this seems to be different. An almost revolution of sorts. Women, and men, tired of the men being allowed to carry on utilising their positions of power for their own sexual gain and expecting no consequences, have now provided those consequences. The powerful have become the powerless.

Harvey Weinstein

Harvey Weinstein was one of Hollywood’s most influential producers. His pictures launched a thousand careers. Nothing seemed to be slowing his roll – until Katherine Kendall recounted a time when Weinstein invited her up to his hotel room, stripped naked, demanded she showed him her breasts and then got in the cab with her after she made her escape, waiting outside her place for twenty minutes. Since she told her story, at the time I’m writing this blog, over fifty women – including Rose McGowan, Gwyneth Paltrow and Angelina Jolie – have told their own, similar story.

Once the allegations against Weinstein were brought to light, he sent an email round begging his partners and his friends to stand by him – no one did and he was subsequently fired from his position, losing everything he had built, his allies and his power.

Of course, as Weinstein had launched many careers, it was to be expected that those who had worked closely with him were asked about their thoughts on the situation. Quentin Tarantino admitted he knew something was happening but failed to see the pattern – he promised to do better by women and urged others to do so. Kevin Smith has said he is ashamed to know that his films were financed for fourteen years by him. Matt Damon? Matt Damon said “I have daughters!! How can I, a father to women children, abide by this???”

There is a huge problem with this argument. It doesn’t fucking matter. It doesn’t matter that you have a daughter, because you should still say “This is awful” if you have a son or no children. Bringing the women you have in your life into this, doesn’t make any sense. Weinstein has a mother somewhere – it didn’t stop him.

Kevin Spacey

Kevin Spacey’s acting career was one that went from strength to strength. From The Usual Suspects to House of Cards, his acting could make you forget that you were watching a film to begin with. He was an actor that held influence on and off the screen, executive producing House of Cards. However, as it was with Weinstein, one man’s courage is another man’s downfall.

Antony Rapp was the first man to come forward. Speaking to Buzzfeed, Rapp states that at fourteen years old, after a party in Spacey’s apartment, Spacey picked him up and then laid down on top of him in the bedroom. Since Rapp’s confession has been published, eightmen at the time of writing this blog – including Richard Dreyfuss’ son, Harry – have come forward. Rapp has been praised for confessing, allowing people to realise and recognise that yes, this happens to men too.

Kevin’s response to Rapp’s story essentially consisted of “I was drunk, by the way I’m gay”. His attempt to divert what is a horrific allegation towards his sexuality was a very ill-fated move. Any attempt to regain his position in the industry, was gone when his ‘apology’ had become his way to come out and put a positive spin on it – which did not work. Many prominent gay figures, including Zachary Quinto and Wanda Sykes, immediately condemned Spacey’s timing. Not only this, but his statement almost glosses over the incident, leaving Rapp open for criticism. ‘Why did he take so long?’ ‘Why didn’t he tell the police when it happened?’ Criticisms that many others face when they finally tell their own story.

Spacey’s fans have justified his actions by saying “Do you not remember his role in American Beauty? You know, when he was a fifty year old man, lusting after a teenage girl? Didn’t matter then snowflakes!” – as if a film is the same as the real life.

This is a story that is constantly developing – since I’ve started writing this blog, Louis CK has admitted his guilt to similar claims. I’ve since found out, since Weinstein was first accused, over 35 others have as well. These include Brett Ratner, director of X-Men: The Last Stand, who was accused by Olivia Munn amongst others of sexual harassment (he has since been accused of rape) and Ed Westwick of Gossip Girl fame, who has also been accused of rape.

For many people, this is a ‘witch-hunt’. For others, it’s women and men finally standing up for themselves, taking back their lives and the power that had been unfairly robbed from them. I know where I stand.

This hasn’t been my normal kind of blog, so have some pictures of cute animals to liven up the mood.

As I said at the start of this piece, if there is anything I need educating on, please inbox me and let me know. I have attempted to be as sensitive as possible, but I know that I am a pro at putting my foot into my mouth.

Thank you for reading!

]]>https://filmgeeksite.wordpress.com/2017/11/10/we-need-to-talk-about-kevin-and-everyone-else/feed/0lauraaahuckle95150902_WILD_CutePenguins.jpg.CROP.promo-xlarge2maxresdefault (3)lovely-cute-animals-15Cute-Animals3HJLfeRNjI Wanna Get Creepy With You: Stephen Kinghttps://filmgeeksite.wordpress.com/2017/10/18/i-wanna-get-creepy-with-you-stephen-king/
https://filmgeeksite.wordpress.com/2017/10/18/i-wanna-get-creepy-with-you-stephen-king/#respondWed, 18 Oct 2017 20:25:01 +0000http://filmgeeksite.wordpress.com/?p=793Continue reading I Wanna Get Creepy With You: Stephen King]]>I have always held a significant fondness for the horror genre. Despite the fact I scare easily, believe there is always a ghost lurking nearby and I cringe at the sight, or thought, of gore, horror is still one of my favourite literary genres. I think it can be a truly difficult genre to write – you have to grasp the readers attention and fear from the first page or scene. Modern audiences aren’t that easy to scare, either. Well, most modern audiences – I am part of that audience and I sleep with the lights on whenever I watch that Supernatural episode with Bloody Mary.

It could be argued it’s a desensitisation issue – we are exposed to a lot more violence and gore than audiences before us. Or it could be argued that people simply don’t know what’s scary any more. Jump scares may frighten some (I.e, me) but they don’t frighten many. When discussing horror, however, it is difficult to do so without mentioning its reigning King.

With a career that has spanned over four decades, it’s difficult to pinpoint a specific novel within those years that truly defines the work of Stephen King. If someone hasn’t read any of his books (which is often a rarity), and asks for a recommendation, I often find it difficult to mention simply one. Do you want a horror story or not? How much time can you dedicate to it? Are you more scared of clowns or children? What are your thoughts on badly written sex scenes? Though many may disagree, I always find it is best to go back to the start.

Carrie (1974) is King’s début novel that portrays a heart-wrenching story of a young girl who just wants to be accepted by her peers and her mother. She is taunted for her religious beliefs and punished for becoming a woman. Alongside womanhood arriving, she begins to re-experience telekinetic powers that has laid dormant for years. Isn’t puberty just a kick in the teeth?

Though we are only given a brief glimpse into her life, it is quite easy to distinguish that it hasn’t been a pleasant one. When one of Carrie’s classmates, Sue Snell, quietly offers a chance of happiness, Carrie jumps at it and accepts an invite to prom. You know what they say though, happiness is fleeting.

In what is perhaps one of the most iconic scenes in horror literature, Carrie is drenched in pig’s blood shortly after being crowned Prom Queen, ruining her only moment of glory and bliss. Her fleeting experience of joy is shattered and replaced by embarrassment and rage. It is then that the audience, whether they’re reading or watching, understands the true power of Carrie. She begins to wreak chaos on the town, specifically attacking those who had all but destroyed her before she had even reached adulthood.

Prom Rule #237 – Don’t be a dick

Carrie returns home, after having killed many of her classmates, to her over-zealous religious mother, Margaret, who is probably worse to her than any bully at her school. She locks Carrie in a tiny cupboard that holds only a frightening religious shrine when she finds out Carrie has had her first period, in order for her to repent for her ‘sinly’ ways. She reveals to her young daughter that she’s a child conceived from marital rape. But, Margaret is still terrified of her own daughter and the powers she knows Carrie possesses. Even so, she is her mother and Carrie’s only source of sanctuary. When Carrie returns she is broken and bloody, seeking solace and kindness from her mother – it is then that Margaret stabs her, believing it was the only way to rid “Satan” from her daughter’s body.

Carrie, who loves her mother dearly despite how she treats her, kills Margaret. She collapses and, after forgiving Sue Snell who had been following her path of destruction, Carrie dies whilst crying out for the woman who justified attempting to kill her by claiming she was possessed. It is utterly heartbreaking.

Carrie is terrifying, for me anyway, because it’s relatable to an extent. This young girl is fragile and naïve, seeking only guidance from her mother and acceptance from her peers. She is met, however, with only cruelty, anger and spite. She is wrong for practising religion. She is wrong for becoming a woman. She is drenched in pigs blood because she’s a victim. She is punished for existing.

The world is unkind to her, so Carrie becomes just as ruthless. Her anger manifests itself into her powers and she feels no mercy as she slaughters everyone around her, until her mother becomes one of her victims.

It is difficult to distinguish if this is even a horror story. Without the added telekinetic ability that quietly builds during the novel, it would be hard to identify what genre this would be. As I was reading it, however, it did become frightening to me how I ended up routing for this young girl during her murderous rampage. It felt cathartic and justified. Would I actually feel this way, should this telekinetic travesty occur in real life? Probably not. But having multiple insights into the character, from media coverage to Sue Snell’s account of the incident, not just one third person perspective, gives us a more well rounded view of why she did it.

In the end, young people like Carrie White still exist. People who can’t seem to find a place of a refuge no matter where they turn. Hell, there was a point in my life where I was Carrie White. It’s how society looks after and treats them, that determines if their life ends like Carrie or Matilda.

The Shining (1977): “No TV and no beer make Homer something something…” “Go crazy?” “DON’T MIND IF I DO!”

IT (1986): You’ve seen the film, you’ve read the Tumblr posts sexualising a clown demon, now read the 1,000 page novel to see where the thirst began!

]]>https://filmgeeksite.wordpress.com/2017/10/18/i-wanna-get-creepy-with-you-stephen-king/feed/0Sissy Specek as Carrielauraaahuckle95CRmlScPUkAAMeWuFilms That Have Impacted My Life: The Roomhttps://filmgeeksite.wordpress.com/2017/10/03/films-that-have-impacted-my-life-the-room/
https://filmgeeksite.wordpress.com/2017/10/03/films-that-have-impacted-my-life-the-room/#respondTue, 03 Oct 2017 22:11:53 +0000http://filmgeeksite.wordpress.com/?p=757Continue reading Films That Have Impacted My Life: The Room]]>I won’t say that The Room (2003) is my favourite film of all time, as much as it may seem to everyone else. I talk about it a lot, I implore people to watch it as soon as possible and as often as possible. Every piece of trivia, I swallow up and store for winter/whenever the subject is brought up. But I can’t say it’s my favourite film because it simply isn’t. If anything, it’s my favourite film experience.

My first viewing of The Room is hazy. I remember hearing about it in college and completely forgetting about it until I started watching a series on Youtube called “Everything Wrong With…” by the channel CinemaSins. I thought the video that focused on The Room was hilarious but I still prolonged watching the actual film until my best friend visited me at university.

We sat together in my cold, tiny room, huddled over my laptop, duvet stretched across our shoulders, and watched the plight of Johnny unfold. His fiancée, Lisa, is in love and having an affair with his best friend, Mark who gets confused every time she initiates sex. His kind of adopted son, but not really (it’s a very confusing relationship) Donny is embroiled in drugs for all of two minutes. His mother in law, Claudette, has breast cancer. He didn’t get his promotion at work. Honestly, Johnny gets put through the ringer in this film. Everything shitty that could happen to a guy, happens to Johnny.

But you don’t watch The Room for the plot. You can’t. The plot is nonsensical, because of course it is. You’re supposed to route for Johnny, a supposedly sympathetic man who does everything for everyone and gets only betrayed in return. He lets his friends enter his house when he isn’t home so they can have sex. What a good guy, right? Why is the world so harsh on this wonderful man?

No, you watch The Room for its notoriety. You watch The Room for the classic lines, such as ‘You’re not my fucking mother!’, ‘You can fall off the Earth. That’s a promise’ and, of course, ‘YOU ARE TEARING ME APART LISA’. You watch it for the change in characters – where does the Pete the psychologist go? Where does ‘Me Underwears’ guy go? Does his relationship work out with Lisa’s friend?

You watch it for the scenes that are left unexplained or unanswered – playing American football in tuxes, Claudette’s breast cancer, Mark’s supposed weed problem. You watch it for the awkward sex scenes with dubbed moaning and ridiculously noughties music. You watch it because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t believe anyone trying to explain it.

My friend and I still regularly watch it. We quote it back and forth to each other. Every meme we have found and sent to each other. If one finds a guy that loves it as much as we do, the other instantly approves. From there, it blossomed. I forced my own partner to watch it. Anytime it was mentioned when I returned to university, my interest would peak and I would slide my way into the conversation. Anyone who hasn’t seen it, would see it as soon as I could possibly throw it in their face.

Fairly soon, The Room was more than just a bad film I had watched a few times. It was something that was bringing me closer to other people, creating friendships that I quite possibly wouldn’t have had without Tommy Wiseau’s personal masterpiece.

The independent film that no one thought would see the light of day, has since become a phenomenon. Greg Sestero who plays Mark has written a book about his experiences and his friendship with Tommy called The Disaster Artist. Many celebrities have admitted their love for it, including James Franco and Seth Rogen, who have now taken Greg’s book and turned it into a film of their own. It’s a film about the filming of The Room. People are genuinely excited whenever Tommy Wiseau visits for screenings of The Room. They throw spoons at the screen, they chime in at the infamous lines, they heckle but they all have genuine enjoyment of an otherwise terrible film. There is a huge community of fans and I still find it incredible.

The Prince Charles Cinema, which is located in Leicester Square in London, often holds screenings of The Room. I was fortunate enough to go to one when Tommy Wiseau was there as well, along with my partner. Having since read The Disaster Artist and having watched The Room many times, I have no idea what I expected from him. At the time, Wiseau was enigmatic in my head, a man with a mysterious past and a distinctive but unexplainable accent. Someone who could switch from your best friend to your worst enemy. Seeing him live and interact with the crowd who had shown up to simply adore him and his work – he seemed happy. He was genuinely funny. Strange, easily diverting from the questions being asked to him but still funny. No one was laughing at him. They were all with him.

I returned to The Prince Charles Cinema only recently to view Tommy and Greg’s new film, Best F[r]iends, with my partner and a university friend who shared the same love of The Room.This time I had the greatest joy of actually meeting them, having them sign my script and book (Tommy wrote ‘Love is blind Laurea’ on my script, which I will cherish for the rest of my life). On stage, Tommy was charismatic and engaging, with Greg taking a step from the spotlight and remaining more reserved. Tommy had the audience eating from the palm of his hand – he could have declared war and we would have all followed him into battle.

My precious script

In my mind, once I had met them both, I felt done with the obsession that had been reigning over my life for at least five years. I had read the book, I had consumed the trivia, I had watched it many times over and over and now finally, I had met the men who had brought this insanity into my life. In my mind, it was over – it was done.

As I sat there, watching the slicker but still just as bizarre Best F[r]iends, I realised that no – this will never leave my life. I have no idea how it managed to, but somehow the cult film has managed to wriggle its way under my skin, creating an insatiable fascination about it and everyone and everything involved. I know I am not the first to have had this feeling, not even the first to have it about this film. Of course I’m not, otherwise it would be only myself and anyone I could drag who be at those screenings.

In all honesty, there is something admirable about The Room. Someone had a vision and whilst it has ended up being labeled ‘The Best Worst Film of All Time’, Tommy Wiseau still achieved his dream. Albeit, he went about it in seemingly the most exhausting way possible but he still managed to make his own personal fantasy, a wildly popular reality. It has become almost legendary since it first hit screens nearly fourteen years ago. People will come from all over in order to see him speak live and to throw plastic cutlery at a screen.

Maybe that’s what I like about it. Maybe now knowing the amount of hard work that went alongside the absolute madness has given me a new respect for, not only Tommy, but everyone involved. The film making process is an incredibly difficult one – not many people, even those who have studio money and aren’t self funded like Tommy, are able to achieve as much popularity as this one, truly terrible film does. Maybe the determination of Tommy is something to aspire to as much as it is something to be oddly fascinated by.

All that I know is, I want Tommy Wiseau’s laugh etched on my gravestone.